


5 Times Kent Davison Needed to be Punished

by kethni



Category: Veep
Genre: Accidental Exhibitionism, Angst, Corporal Punishment, F/M, Handcuffs, Hate Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 17:20:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8022481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kethni/pseuds/kethni
Summary: 5 random stories on a theme: three tiny dirty stories, one tiny angst story, and one short angst story. They're not connected and they don't carry on. I've divided them up into chapters to make it a bit easier to read.





	1. Foeyay

**Author's Note:**

> For the anon who asked for 'a story where she punishes Kent for calling her a c**t in C**tgate.' I hope you enjoy it!

 

‘You fucking prick. You tied yourself to that useless fucker, Hughes, and when that went south you latched onto me. You fucking _parasite_ , if it weren’t for my generosity you wouldn’t have a fucking career.’

He didn’t even have the fucking decency to look shocked, let alone crushed. He just pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes. He used to give her that fucking look all the time, back when he worked for Hughes. It was his “what is she bitching about now?” face.

‘Don’t give me that patronising fucking expression, you asshole,’ she sneered.  

Kent put his hands on his hips. ‘I stand by what I said.’

She slapped him. It surprised her more than him. His lip merely curled in derision.

‘Is that the best you can do?’

‘I will have your fucking respect!’ Selina demanded.

‘You don’t deserve my respect,’ he retorted.

She backhanded him. Caught his cheek with her ring.

He shoved her against the wall. ‘Nobody respects a bully, Ma’am.’

‘Better a bully than a two-faced, candy-ass, _nerd_.’ She shoved at his shoulders. ‘You goddamn coward, you couldn’t even say the word to my face.’

He pressed lips to her ear. ‘You are a narcissistic, vicious, bully, Ma’am. Worse than that, you are ignorant, incompetent, and incapable of growth. The fact that you drove me to use that word should explain to you the depths of my profound dislike.’

Selina turned her head and looked him in the eye. ‘You hate me so much, why’s your dick stabbing my hip?’

‘I’m agitated.’

‘Use it or I’ll cut it off.’

‘I wouldn’t touch you with Jonah’s,’ he said.

Selina grabbed his hair and yanked. He ripped her dress open.

‘You better be a better screw than campaign manager,’ she growled. ‘Ya think I’m a bully now? I can make your life a living hell.’

Kent tore down her panties. ‘Good Lord, woman, will you shut up?’

‘You’d like that, wouldn’t ya?’ Selina panted, yanking out his belt. ‘Put me in my place.’

‘Your place is in a psychiatric facility.’

Selina tugged down his pants. ‘Explains why I’m letting you fuck me.’

Kent lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist.

Selina groaned as he entered her.

‘Letting me?’ His mouth was pressed against her ear. His breath was warm against her skin.

‘Sure.’ She grunted as he adjusted his grip. ‘Ya don’t honestly think I’m hot for your wrinkly old man ass.’

‘I know an aroused woman when I’m inside her.’

Selina felt herself tighten around him. ‘I was thinking about Ryan Reynolds.’

‘As if you even know who that is.’ He was panting. His hands were tight on her ass.

She’d be painted with bruises tomorrow. ‘Deadshot,’ she tried.

Kent laughed. A low, dirty chuckle that revved up and down her spine.

‘Deadpool,’ he corrected. ‘Deadshot is Will Smith.’

Selina closed her eyes. Getting close. ‘Easy mistake then,’ she muttered.

Her heels were drumming against him. She felt one of her shoes slip off and clatter onto the floor.

She slammed her head back against the wall as she came. Groaned from both. The world spun as he turned them around and lay her on his desk. Selina winced as she caught his telephone with her foot. She’d pay for that tomorrow.

‘Get on with it,’ she muttered.

He was close. She could see the strain in his expression. He put his face next to hers. She thought he was going to whisper. He licked her cheek and bit her ear.

‘Dirty fucker!’

He came with a quiet ‘uh-uh’ and a pinched expression. Selina shoved his shoulder and he slumped into his chair.

‘I banged my head,’ she said after a few seconds.

‘Clumsy.’

Selina kicked her leg and caught his arm.

‘Ow.’

‘Asshole.’

‘Because?’

‘Because I said so.’ Selina sat up. ‘You ever tell anyone about this and I’ll wear your balls as earrings.’

Kent shrugged. ‘That would be redundant.’

‘I don’t need earrings?’

He gestured past her.

Selina cringed as she looked. The door was open. A whole crowd of people outside thee room suddenly had somewhere else to be.

‘Think positive thoughts,’ Kent said. ‘Now nobody will be talking about which member of staff called you a name.’


	2. Silk Purse

 

‘Why shouldn’t I fire you?’ Selina demanded.

‘Because it’s true,’ Kent snapped.

‘You’re fucking useless,’ she said. ‘That’s goddamn true too.’

‘I cannot make a silk purse out of sow’s ear!’

Selina drew herself up. ‘You know what I can make outta you? A cellmate for Bill. Oh yeah, there’s lots a shit I can lay at your door.’

Kent shook his head. ‘You are welcome to try but I am not Bill Ericsson or Dan Egan. I can bring your squalid pseudo-presidency down, and if you make one move against me I will.’ He opened the door to the Oval Office and stormed out.

Selina chased after him.

She struggled to match his longer strides and he beat her to his office. When she threw open the door, he already had a box on the desk.

‘What the fuck are you doing?’

‘Taking my possessions for a walk,’ he sneered. ‘What do you imagine?’

Selina swept the box onto the floor. ‘I decide when you leave, not you.’

‘I quit. Is that clear enough?’

‘Get back to work,’ she retorted.

‘You don’t own me,’ he said. ‘I quit and I’m leaving.’

‘I fucking do own you, and you’re not.’

Kent rolled his eyes. ‘The possessiveness was unwelcome when we had our mutual madness, it is even less welcome now.’

Selina poked his shoulder. ‘Fucking you was the most idiotic thing I have ever done.’

‘I’m so glad to stand out in _such_ a crowded field.’

Selina slapped the desk. ‘Stop packing!’

‘No!’

Selina glowered at him for a moment, and then stomped from the room. She walked across to Marjorie.

‘Gimmie your handcuffs.’

‘I beg your pardon, Ma’am?’

‘Handcuffs, gimmie. You gotta have them for arresting insurgents, or terrorists, or whatever.’

Marjorie handed them over.

‘Great.’ Selina started to walk away.

‘Ma’am?’

‘What?’

‘Keys,’ Marjorie said.

‘Oh, yeah. Need those.’

Selina shut the door to Kent’s office behind her. He glanced at her and rolled his eyes.

‘You know what really pisses me off?’ she asked.

‘I’m sure you’re about to tell me.’

‘That was rhetorical, shut up.’ She walked around his desk. ‘It’s that you know how much I hate that word. The connotations of it. It’s misogynistic bullshit, Kent. I thought you were better than that.’

He winced, and most of the fight went out of him.

‘I’m not proud of it,’ he admitted.

‘If I were black or Hispanic I hate to think what you’d have called me,’ Selina said.

Kent’s hands were on the filing cabinet. Perfect.

‘That’s not fair,’ he said quietly.

Selina slipped the cuffs through the drawer handle and snapped them onto his wrists ‘Well you’ll have plenty of time to think about, won’t ya?’

Kent looked at the handcuffs. He looked at her. ‘Why do you have these?’

‘Got ‘em off Marjorie.’ Selina put her hands on her hips. ‘They suit ya.’

‘Very amusing. Take them off.’

‘You don’t give me orders. I give the orders,’ she said. ‘You’re just a little cog in my machine.’

Kent leaned back against the filing cabinet. ‘Have you been drinking?’

‘Only when I remember fucking you.’

Kent snorted. ‘Given the amount of times you talk about it, that must be a lot.’

‘Of course I talk about it,’ she sneered. ‘It’s how I process trauma.’

Kent sighed heavily. ‘I would ask what your plan is now that you’ve handcuffed me to the filing cabinet, but we both know your long-term planning is laughably poor.’

Selina pushed up against him. She walked her fingers over his shirt. ‘My plan is that you stay there until you apologise for what you called me.’

‘Is that all?’

‘Not even close.’

Kent pulled a face. ‘However much my sentiment remains justified, I regret saying it.’

‘That was a shitty apology,’ she complained.

‘It was the truth. Would you like another one with added flattery and lies?’ Kent asked.

‘Tell me that I own ya,’ she said.

‘No.’

Selina shrugged. ‘Okay, stay here and think about what ya did.’ She unplugged his landline and took his cell from his pocket.

‘Is it drugs?’ he asked. ‘Brain damage? Did you fall down and hit your head?’

Selina straightened his tie. ‘I’m the fucking president and you should be nicer to me. I could have you locked up.’

‘I told you –’

Selina covered his mouth with her hand. ‘Not prison. Not somewhere with calls to your lawyer and a speedy trial. I’m talking enhanced interrogation techniques, being an enemy combatant, and having some inbred hillbilly chick take photos of your junk.’

Kent waited until she removed her hand. ‘Take off the cuffs.’

‘No.’

He licked his lips. ‘Take off the cuffs or I’ll make so much noise I’ll have half the staff in here.’

Selina shook her head. ‘Number one, the secret service is outside, and number two, you wouldn’t risk the humiliation.’ She unbuttoned his trousers and tugged them down. ‘You’d never live it down.’

‘You’d be more embarrassed then I would,’ he said, but there was a waver in his voice.

Selina slid her hand into his underwear. ‘You know that’s not true. Male president handcuffs and gropes female staffer is an appalling abuse of power. Female president handcuffs a male staffer and molests him? That’s just funny. Hell, plenty of guys probably fantasise about it.’

‘Are you genuinely upset or was this whole thing a pretext to assault me?’ Kent asked.

‘Oh, I am pissed, Kent,’ she said. ‘You’ve been a bad boy and Momma is not happy.’

He bit his lower lip. Selina glanced down. When she looked back up she was ginning, but there wasn’t an ounce of humour.

‘Which part of this is cranking your own gears?’ she asked.

He shook his head. ‘Sometimes the body reacts to outside stimulation regardless of the owner’s feelings about the matter.’

Selina laughed. ‘I know ya want it. I can see you want it. If you’re a good boy, I’ll let you have it.’

A lot of men would have said anything, done anything at that point.

Kent was thinking.

‘What do you want?’ he asked.

‘Admit I own you,’ she said. ‘That you’re not going anywhere.’

He thought about it some more. She could see him weighing it up. Seconds stretched.

‘You own me,’ he said. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

 


	3. Cold Comfort

 

The vodka burned his throat. Where it had touched his lips, they throbbed. He put the greasy glass down on the rough-hewn countertop. The wood was dark. Drops of spilled vodka threatened to eat away at the scuffed varnish. The counter was more fragile than it looked. A common complaint.

It was cold outside. The city was too warm and wet for the snow to stick. It slithered into filthy water and polluted the streets and the gutters. He missed snow. The deep, gleaming snow of his youth. Snow you could ball up and throw, or build into snowmen, or toboggan down. His sister had invited him to visit at Christmas. To ride through the snowdrifts on a snowmobile. To chase after his niece and nephew as they ran squealing and giggling. Curling up in front of a crackling fire, enjoying the scent of burning wood. Drinking rum toddies and listening to family bicker and debate.

He should have gone.

He would go this year, if his sister asked him. She asked him every year. One year she wouldn’t. That was how it always happened. People tired of him. Friends stopped calling. Familiar faces dropped away from gyms, clubs, and bars. Women found less and less time to spend with him. Until they stopped. Slow social death. It happened over and over.

This time was slightly different. This time he had heard the gossip at work. Seen it reported in the grubbier political columns. He learned that his services were no longer required by seeing the announcement of his replacement. Not that it was worded that way. She had never acknowledged him.

He didn’t drive home. He knew better than to take his car keys when he planned to drink. They were safely in his desk drawer at work.

He’d walk home amid the tourists and the exhausted staffers, lobbyists, and journalists, and in the morning he’d get a cab to work.

He had never expected her to... He considered himself a realist. He knew he rarely engendered warmth or affection, and never love. That was a strictly one-way street.

He had never expected that from her. He had denied himself the poisoned chalice of hoping for that from her. But he had thought that respect was reasonable. He had longed for some small amount of affection. Was that unrealistic?

Evidently it was.

He turned up the collar on his grey, cashmere coat. There was a brisk wind stirring up and scattering scraps of ice. Overhead, the moon was clogged by light pollution. Something so large, so beautiful, and so remote, yet it controlled the tides. It affected millions of human lives. Lives it never saw. People it would never know. Humans would be nothing to it as it continued its magnificent journey.

Had she thought about him at all, when she had taken Charlie Baird to her bed? Had she consciously decided to freeze him out, or had he simply been beneath her notice?

He saw a flicker of movement beside him. What he had thought was a cardboard box contained a young girl, and a cat. They were filthy. No. Not the cat. That was neat. The cleanness of a cat confident in its owner’s love. The girl was filthy. Encased in grime. Blood trickled down her face from a ragged, open wound on her forehead.

She cringed away at his questioning stare.

‘What happened to your head?’ he asked.

She waved a hand, gesturing across the street: a group of drunken young men reeling and roiling across the road.

‘One tripped,’ she said.

‘How old are you?’ he asked.

‘Nineteen.’

The cat sniffed at him. He squatted down and held his hand out.

‘Wouldn’t home be better than this?’ he asked.

The girl looked him in the eye. ‘No.’

He nodded. ‘You need medical attention.’

‘They’ll take my cat.’

‘I’m not sure that’s true,’ he said doubtfully.

‘I am,’ she said. ‘I’m not risking losing Erdos.’

For the first time in a while, he smiled. ‘Named for Paul Erdos?’

She smiled. Unsure. Unwilling. ‘That’s right.’

He made a decision. He had probably made it the moment he saw how young she was, but now he owned it.

‘I can call out a doctor,’ he said. ‘I live nearby.’ He didn’t wait for her suspicious expression. He pulled out his ID and showed it to her. ‘This is me. If you care to call someone and tell them that you’re with me, I will gladly lend you my cell.’

‘You don’t look like a do-gooder.’ she said. ‘Or some religious type.’

‘I’m not,’ he said.

‘Then why’re you doing this?’

He shrugged. ‘It will improve my self-esteem. I suspect that is why anyone does it.’

She snorted. ‘That’s for fucking sure.’

***

Her forehead needed three stitches. She had showered while they waited for the doctor. When she came downstairs, shorn of grime and dirt, he saw the scars of her life on her face.

As the doctor stitched up her forehead. Kent found an old pair of jeans, some socks, t-shirts, sweaters, and boots.

‘Don’t you have any girly stuff?’ she asked. ‘I happen to be a pink ballerina dress sort of woman I’ll have you know.’

He smiled again. ‘Alas all I have are my clothes, and my ballerina dresses are all blue.’

He offered to let her stay in the spare room. She said no. He wasn’t surprised. He wasn’t hurt. He knew, or thought he knew, how dangerous, how predatory, he probably looked to her. He _was_ disappointed. He hadn’t had a conversation shorn of work or the fetters of obligation in… months probably.

He put some money in her pack when she wasn’t looking.

‘What’s your name?’ she asked as she left.

‘Kent Davison,’ he said. ‘You saw my ID.’

‘My glasses got broken,’ she said. ‘I’m as blind as a bat.’

‘And your name?’

‘Katie Popovich.’

***

Gary was the one that cried. Kent could hear him from his office. Crying for a chance of a friend, hoped for and lost. Ben sneered. Sue was uncomfortable. Selina was annoyed. Kent was sympathetic, but privately. He said nothing to Gary. The other man would not appreciate his friendly overtures. Kent wondered if he himself seemed as unwelcoming to others as Gary seemed to him.

‘I should a never listened to ya,’ Selina said to him. She was twitchy. Agitated. ‘Bailing out Charlie was the right thing to do for the economy. Even Ben admitted that.’

Kent said nothing. What was there to say?

She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Were ya jealous? Is that it?’

Kent walked out of the room. Nobody did that to her. He had. She didn’t come after him. He never thought she would.

* * *

He had never been in the morgue before. It wasn’t what he expected. It was busy, noisy, and slightly cold. He supposed that on some level he had expected… what? Dignity? There wasn’t time for dignity. He recognised the signs of the chronically overworked when he saw them. Dignity was the first thing to go when you were running at full pelt only to stand still.

He was expecting a metal shelf, not a black sack. It was, of course, practical. Far more practical than a metal shelf or a casket.

Kent had to shut his eyes and count to five. A sack. _A sack_. Like garbage.

‘Do you need to sit down?’

‘No,’ Kent said. ‘Please proceed.’

They unzipped the sack and peeled the cover over. Kent averted his eyes.

‘Can’t you afford her some respect?’ he snapped. ‘I only need to see her face.’

‘Sorry,’ the technician muttered.

Her eyelashes were a splash of darkness against the paleness of her skin. Her features were soft. Undeveloped. She was just a child.

‘That’s her,’ Kent said.

The technician clicked his pen. ‘Katie Popovich?’

Kent nodded and gently smoothed the cover back over her face. ‘I’m unaware if it’s short for Katherine.’

The technician tugged the zipper up and around. Katie disappeared back inside the sack.

‘Where’s Erdos?’ Kent asked.

The technician blinked at him owlishly. ‘Who?’

‘The cat,’ Kent said. ‘I was told that he was here.’

***

The vodka burned his throat. Kent should have stayed at home but he couldn’t stand the silence.

Another vodka. Not enough. He was waiting for numbness.

Someone was at his elbow.

‘It’s Kent Davison isn’t it?’

‘What?’

‘Isabella Martinez,’ she said, thrusting out her breasts and smiling.

Kent poured himself another vodka from the bottle. ‘Which newspaper?’

‘How’d you figure I’m a reporter?’ she asked.

Kent downed the shot. ‘You don’t appear to be drunk, desperate, or deranged. Therefore, the only reason that I can see for you to be talking to me is that you’re a reporter and you hope I’m going to say something newsworthy.’

She shrugged. ‘Maybe I find you irresistibly sexy.’

‘I am neither sober enough to be amused by the irony nor drunk enough to find that flattering.’

‘I heard that Selina Meyer found you pretty irresistible for all of six or seven weeks,’ she said.

‘Selina Meyer is a cunt,’ he said.

***

Now he felt numb. He knew that he was often called cold. Heartless. Now he felt it. He was here. Everyone else was on the other side of glass. He could see them. He could hear them. Nothing else.

He could see Selina was shaking with rage.

He could hear her demanding, _yelling_ at him to explain what was wrong with him, what was he thinking, why would he ever call her such a thing?

She had never mastered the art of allowing other people to break into her rage. Kent had long learnt to let it ride. He normally listened. Not now. He only returned his attention to her when the screaming stopped.

‘Are you listening to a word I said?’ She was out of breath. Her hands were clenched.

‘As much as I care to.’

Her mouth dropped opened. ‘What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?’

‘May I go?’

She pointed at the door. ‘Walk out that door and keep fucking walking. You… you’re fucking fired! Not just from the West Wing, not just from Washington, you are fired from fucking _politics_! By the time I’m done you won’t be able to get a job with -’

He left. Walked out of the door. He swept his belongings into a box and kept walking. Staffers glanced at him. Noticed the box.

He saw them looking at him.

He heard the whispers and the questions.

That was all.

***

The vodka didn’t burn anymore. He stopped drinking when he spilled more on the bar than he poured into the glass. That far and no farther.

He took a cab home. The radio in his bedroom wasn’t much of a substitute for other people. It was better than the quiet.

He was startled awake by someone knocking at his door. He glanced at the clock. It was automatic. He wasn’t expecting anyone. He couldn’t think of any legitimate reason for anyone to be at his door.

Another knock.

Kent put on the coffee maker and headed to the door.

‘Jesus!’ Selina said. ‘Were you gonna leave me standing here all -’

He shut the door. It was peculiarly pleasing.

‘Open this fucking door or I’ll have the secret service break it down!’ she threatened.

It was surreal, in the classical definition of the word. Dreamlike. Bizarre. The president of the united states was banging on his door and demanding he open up. What was next, the Queen of England asking him to lunch?

Kent opened the door, turned, and walked away.

He heard her slam the door shut.

‘Have you taken something?’

She grabbed his wrist and wouldn’t let go until he stopped moving.

Kent frowned at her. ‘What?’

‘Have you taken something?’

He pulled his wrist free. ‘Are you on drugs?’

‘That’s my fucking question!’

Kent rolled his eyes. ‘I’ve been dismissed before Ma’am. Contrary to what you apparently think, it is not the worst thing that has ever happened to me. Frankly it isn’t even the worst thing that’s happened to me this week.’

He walked into the kitchen and opened one of the cupboards.

‘Ya gonna tell me what the worst thing was?’ she asked, a little more calmly.

‘I don’t believe that’s any concern of yours.’

He heard the chair scrape against the floor as she pulled it back.

‘Hey, who’s that?’ she asked.

Kent turned and followed her gesture. ‘Erdos.’

She unbuttoned her coat and pulled off her gloves. ‘What the fuck kind of name is that?’

Kent shrugged. ‘He’s named for a mathematician.’

She rolled her eyes as she put aside the coat and gloves. ‘Ask a stupid question. So, boy or girl?’

‘He’s a tom.’ Kent made two cups of coffee.

Selina blew out her cheeks as she pushed herself up onto the chair. ‘Well, I’m glad you got another cat. I know how much losing Fibonacci tore you up.’

‘Why are you here?’ He put the two cups on the table and sat down at the other end of the table.

‘I’m worried about you, you fucking idiot,’ she said, pulling the cup closer.

Kent silently shook his head.

She was watching. Waiting for an answer. As if he owed her anything.

‘Jesus,’ she muttered. ‘So, uh, how old is Erdos?’

‘The vet said he thinks about four,’ Kent said.

Selina squinted at him. ‘You get him from a shelter?’

Kent shook his head. ‘He was bequeathed to me.’

She cracked a smiled. ‘Like a crazy rich auntie and you thought you were being left a fortune but she actually left it to the cat?’

‘No, a homeless girl I met last week. When they searched her belongings they found a grubby scrap of paper asking that her parents not be allowed to reclaim her body and that I care for her cat.’

He looked away from the distress and pity on her face.

‘How the fuck did that happen?’ she asked softly.

‘Pneumonia,’ Kent said. ‘Apparently she had AIDS. Pneumonia is quite a common cause of death.’

‘Yeah,’ Selina said. ‘I know. What.... Why did you decide to make friends with a street person?’

‘I was tired.’

She looked at him blankly.

‘You don’t see the same world the rest of us do,’ he said. ‘Everywhere you go has been cleaned and tidied before you arrive. Sanitised. I don’t have that luxury. I was tired of walking past beggars and street people. It grates at me. To hear their misery and do nothing.’

‘So give to a charity. It’s not safe to go throwing cash to junkies.’

Kent shook his head. ‘I don’t believe she was and she didn’t seem dangerous. She’d been assaulted by some frat boys. I got her medical attention. Gave her a meal. Some old clothes. I found an unused flea collar for the cat.’

‘And this week she died.’

‘Yes.’

She jerked, startled, as Erdos howled. ‘What the fuck is his problem?’

‘I think he misses her.’

Selina twisted in her seat to look at Erdos. ‘Cats shouldn’t do that. You should get him checked out.’

Kent sipped his coffee. ‘He has been. Checked. Vaccinated. Treated for fleas, worms, and ear mites.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘He wasn’t very happy about it. He’s also not having a good week.’

‘Is he gonna be okay?’ she asked.

‘I hope so,’ Kent said. ‘I imagine that grief therapy for cats is a complex business.’

He could see she was searching for a topic of conversation. He was supposed to be the one with no social skills. She was a politician. She was supposed to be good with people.

‘I bet she was glad to meet you,’ Selina said. ‘She’d probably been worrying what would happen to her cat. Lonely people, they need pets.’

Kent ran his thumb around the lip of his cup. ‘You may be correct. I attempted to persuade her to go to a homeless shelter but she was concerned they would take Erdos away.’

She put her hand over his.

Kent looked at her. ‘You dismissed me.’

‘What?’

‘You fired me,’ he said. ‘I remember quite distinctly. Why are you here pretending to care about my life?’

She groaned. ‘Okay one, I didn’t fucking mean it, you know that, and number two, I was terrified I was going to wake up to a headline like “Meyer campaign manager found hanging from light fixture?” Yeah?’

‘Former campaign manager.’

She threw up her arms. ‘Oh, fuck you! You’re not fired! I was trying get through that thick skull of yours.’

Kent looked up at the ceiling. ‘I’m quite confident none of my light fittings would bear my weight.’

She stared at him. ‘What was that? Was that supposed to be a fucking joke? It’s not funny, Kent, and making jokes about committing suicide is one of the warning signs.’

Kent frowned. He was too tired. Too bone deep exhausted to argue. ‘I’m not suicidal. I have no idea why you would think that. A job in your administration is not worth crying over, tell alone dying over.’

‘You’ve been disappearing inside yourself for weeks,’ she said. ‘Months. I don’t know what happened, but I don’t fucking like it. The Kent Davison I know, doesn’t act this way. He would fight for his job. He wouldn’t get pissed in a bar and tell some reporter I was a cunt!’

Kent’s smile was cold. Sneering. ‘Apparently the Kent Davison you knew demanded so much of your respect you didn’t even bother to tell him when he’d been replaced.’

She sat back in her chair. ‘Kent, you made it pretty fucking obvious that you didn’t feel anything for me,’ Selina said.

‘What?’

‘It was like you didn’t want to be there,’ she said. ‘You got any idea how much that fucks up your self-esteem?’ She was playing with her hands. ‘I really like you, and I know you didn’t mean to, but you made me feel like shit.’

‘I don’t... I… I liked you as well,’ Kent said.

‘You made me do all the work! Always. You never once asked me to spend time with you. You never once suggested doing something together.’

‘You might have said no,’ Kent said quietly.

Selina shook her head. ‘I have an insane schedule so I guess, yeah, one time I might be said no. Or later. Or something. It wouldn’t be a big deal.’

‘Yes it would,’ Kent said quietly. ‘You don’t understand.’

‘No, I don’t.’ She squeezed his hand. ‘But I want to.’

Kent looked away. ‘It’s complicated.’

‘I’m not going anywhere,’ she said. ‘You hear me, buster? I’m staying here until we sort this out.’

Kent scanned her face. Then he nodded. ‘Okay.’


	4. Playing Rough

 

Kent rubbed his eye as he stumbled through the corridors. All the lights were off, except for the edge of illumination around the door of the Oval Office.

The secret service agent waiting outside didn’t look at him. She looked crisp. He knew he looked like hell.

‘Come in!’ ‘Selina barked at his knock.

She was behind her desk but he could see she was wearing a nightie and a silk robe. Kent waved cigarette smoke away. The ashtray on her desk was spotted with cigarette ends.

‘What the fuck are you wearing?’ Selina demanded.

‘Jeans and a t-shirt. Ma’am, it’s after three in the morning.’

She narrowed her eyes. ‘You think the United States sleeps? You think I sleep? You think my enemies sleep?’

Kent saw the nearly empty bottle of whiskey at the edge of the desk.

Oh lord.

‘Enemies, Ma’am?’

She stood and stalked around to him. ‘They’re against me, Kent.’ She sucked fiercely at the cigarette. ‘I know you called me a cunt.’

‘Ma’am....’

‘No fucking excuses,’ she growled. ‘Are you with me and pissed, Kent, or are you against me?’

‘I’m with you, but –’

‘No fucking excuses!’ She jabbed him.

He caught her hand.

‘Apologies, you were about to burn me with your cigarette.’

Selina bared her teeth. ‘Maybe I should. You fucking deserve to be punished.’

Kent licked his lips. ‘I’m sure that I do,’ he said cautiously. ‘But cigarette burns tend to make medical personal so... curious. Punishment merely makes them snigger. Abuse they find much less amusing.’

Selina looked him up and down slowly. ‘You get punished often?’

‘It’s been known to happen.’

‘You cry like a little bitch?’ She stubbed out her cigarette.

‘If required.’

‘You ran off blubbing when I hit you with the lipstick.’

‘That was different,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t prepared.’

Selina perched on the edge of the desk and let him see her legs. ‘If not a cigarette, then what?’

Kent didn’t reply for a moment. He wasn’t sure how serious she was. He unbuckled his belt and held it out to her.

Selina grinned. ‘You like to play rough.’

‘If you would rather not –’

Selina snapped the belt between her hands. ‘No way. I’m not pussing out. Are you?’

Kent unbuttoned his jeans. ‘Over the desk?’

‘Grab some wood,’ she ordered. ‘Oh, you know what I fucking meant.’

He hadn’t done this in..... months. Maybe more than a year. It wasn’t something he did with just anyone.

Selina tugged down his briefs. ‘Christ, I think you have a smoother ass than I do.’

‘Are you here to punish me or to compliment my grooming?’

The belt cracked against his skin. Kent gripped the desk.

‘No backchat,’ Selina said.

‘No, Ma’am,’ he muttered, and groaned again at the snap and crack of the belt against his skin. 

‘I’m gonna have to keep you busy tomorrow,’ Selina said. ‘We don’t want you sat around moping about your aching ass.’

‘Very compassionate,’ he muttered. He was concentrating on the rhythm of the belt.

‘I’m a people person.’

Kent leaned on the desk. He was feeling… a little woozy… pleasantly disconnected.

‘Hey, you okay?’ Selina asked. She sounded breathless.

‘Hmm mmm,’ he murmured.

‘Kent, you okay?’

‘Great.’ He had to force the word out.

He heard her drop the belt. ‘I don’t see any blood.’

‘This is what happens.’

Her hand touched his back. ‘Oh yeah?’

‘Hmm.’

She was rubbing his back. Kent didn’t look at her. He wanted to enjoy it just a little longer.

‘Did ya come?’

‘Not about that,’ he managed.

‘Well I’m gonna.’

That made him look up. She was sitting down on her chair. She looked him in the eye as she pulled her nightie up to her waist.

‘You want me to go?’ he asked.

‘You’re gonna stand there,’ she said.’ And you’re gonna watch. And you’re not gonna touch your dick. That’s your punishment.’

Kent managed to stand up. ‘You just beat me with a leather belt.’

‘Ya enjoyed it,’ Selina said. ‘That’s not how punishment works.’

 


	5. Three Times Around the Rose Garden

 

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘We had argued. I was.... discontented. I’d had a couple of drinks –’

‘I don’t want to hear your fucking excuses,’ Selina said.

Kent clasped his hands together. ‘What can I do?’

‘Get out,’ she snapped. ‘That’s what you can do. Fucking get out.’

She thought he was going to argue. Wanted him to argue, so she could rip him to shreds, so she could tell him to have a good look at what he’d thrown away because he was _discontented_.

No. She didn’t... she didn’t wanna do that. She was pissed and she was hurt, and she wanted to kick him up and down the West Wing and three times around the rose garden. But she didn’t wanna... Christ.

But it was worse than Ben and Amy and the others.

‘Don’t fucking speak to me.’

‘Get out of my sight.’

‘Did I give you permission to breathe, you oxygen thief?’

Each time she sneered at him, she felt a relief, like a release of steam from a valve. Then she’d register the expression in his eyes and she’d feel like shit. But why should she feel bad when he was the one who called her a cunt? God!

He had no right to make her feel guilty.

So it started again.

‘Ma’am, this can’t go on,’ Ben said quietly. He had asked for a private word.

‘What’s that?’

‘Berating Kent. I get why you want to, Christ knows _I_ do, but you gotta lay off.’ Ben spread his hands. ‘What’s the endgame? If he quits we’ll really struggle to replace him. Meanwhile overhearing you laying into him is stressing the fuck out of everyone else. It’s a hostile working environment.’

Selina glared at him. ‘The endgame is that I feel better about him calling me a cunt.’

‘There is a little thing called the right to free speech, Ma’am,’ Ben said.

‘What about my right to free speech?’ Selina asked.

Ben frowned. ‘Ma’am, hating your boss is as American as apple pie. I’m sure there are stacks of staffers who’d gladly push me under a car.’

Selina narrowed her eyes. ‘Are you screwing any of them?’

‘Well... no,’ Ben rubbed his forehead. ‘I thought you had like an enemies with benefits thing.’ He stepped back at her expression. ‘I didn’t really. I just didn’t think you were actually _together_. He never mentions you as a partner, just a boss.’

Selina threw up her hands. ‘He’s at work and you’re a co-worker!’

‘Yeah. That’s a fair point.’ Ben sighed. ‘Ma’am, morale is already shit. Do whatever you gotta in private, but in public you need to stop laying into him.’

Stop yelling at him in public. Fine. She was a grown up.

Selina trashed his office. Late, while there was nobody around.

She called him five times. The first four times she slammed down the phone when he answered. The fifth time he picked up she told him to sort out his office. Then she put the phone down.

He arrived about thirty minutes later. He went straight to the West Wing. Selina got dressed. Smoked a cigarette and went over. His office door was open. He was knelt on the floor.

‘Lose a contact?’ Selina asked.

‘Broken glass,’ he said, holding up a brush.

‘Fuck.’ She shrugged. ‘Ben told me I had to stop yelling at you.’

Kent emptied the glass into a container. ‘I would have thought he was all for that.’

‘Bad for morale, apparently.’

Selina helped him clear up. It didn’t take long with two of them.

Kent ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Do you want my resignation?’ he asked quietly.

‘Do you wanna quit?’ Selina folded her arms. ‘If working here is so shitty I don’t know why you haven’t already.’

‘I don’t wish to resign.’

‘Ya ever think maybe I do?’ Selina asked. ‘I can’t fucking sleep at night.’

‘I know.’

‘The pressure is eating me alive. I work fifteen or sixteen hours, at least, every single day. I don’t get time off. Not really. Being the president is a fucking 24/7 job.’

Kent put his palm to her cheek.

‘Don’t feel sorry for me, you dick,’ Selina muttered. She looked him in the eye. ‘I thought you knew me better. Enough to cut me some slack.’

Kent pulled her close. He slid his arm around her waist as she rested her head on his shoulder.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly. ‘I have to try to separate Selina Meyer, the president, from Selina Meyer, my partner. We’re all under so much stress.’

‘I know.’

‘I just snapped.’ Kent rubbed her back. ‘If I could take it back I would.’

‘Asshole,’ she whispered.

‘I know.’ He kissed her hair. ‘Do you want to go to bed?’

‘Ya coming with?’

‘I’d like to.’

Selina straightened up and wiped her eyes. ‘Ya didn’t see this.’

‘I didn’t see anything,’ he promised.

‘Let’s go to bed.’

 

***

 

 


End file.
